


Yearning is stupid and so are you

by BBMarcello



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Armie's got a potty mouth and that's okay, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Not a fan of Elizabeth, RPF, Sweaters, Unhappy Armie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 11:58:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13612911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BBMarcello/pseuds/BBMarcello
Summary: Armie yearns in NY, Timmy wears cute sweaters in LA, a phone call and some angst.





	Yearning is stupid and so are you

**Author's Note:**

> I completely blame [Keyweegirlie](http://insecure.archiveofourown.org/users/keyweegirlie/pseuds/keyweegirlie) for my newfound obsession with CMBYN and actors therein. I can't quite believe I'm writing fic again, it's been a good long while!  
> This was totally inspired by how 'under the surface' miserable Armie looked in the Boss photos while Timmy was being adorkable on Facebook Live.  
> This is all fiction, not related to real lives at all, though I wouldn't mind sitting down and having a drink with them both :)

I pull off the stupid turtleneck and throw it on top of my suitcase. I'd spent the entire evening counting to ten in my head so I wouldn't start fidgeting with the neckline, smooth cashmere that was so soft to the touch but felt like it was strangling me, Liz throwing me looks everytime I clenched my fists, dug my nails into my pants, one, two, three, four, this fucking thing is hurting, five, six, seven, eight, this bullshit sweater, this bullshit event, nine, ten, deep breath in, deep breath out. I tried to smile for every picture with Liz next to me, bright smile on her face like always. I just couldn't do it tonight, feeling overwhelmed, cloaked in fabric, sweltering in winter, choking, choking.

The pants follow the sweater, who cares if they crumple. I'm sick of her picking my outfits out, especially when they feel like they're suffocating me. Stupid turtlenecks, I'm thirty, not Diane Keaton, no scrawny neck to hide, no hickies bursting out, sorry Diane, sorry.

I sit on the bed and look over my shoulder to the adjoining room door. Liz had closed the door behind her, the softness of the click denying her anger, she was sick of me, I'm sick of me. I can't hear any movement now, she must have kissed the kids goodnight and decided their room was the lesser of two evils. Me, I'm evil, I'm sick, I can't carry on like this.

"Hey, you okay?"  
  
"Hey, yeh, I...fuck"  
  
"What's going on, are you okay?" I heard a door being closed, wherever Timmy was, he was in private now. I put my hand over my face, I'm not gonna cry, I'm not. "Arm, you're scaring me, what's going on?"  
  
Just that, just him saying Arm, and I'm flayed to the bone, it doesn't take much these days. This fucking knife edge is dragging me across it, blood running down my fingers, I don't know how to let go.  
  
"You know, I thought about you today. We had that stupid Facebook Live thing and I probably made an ass out of myself in front of hundreds of people but, you know, I turned to my side and asked 'where's Armie' and Luca rolled his eyes at me, 'in New York' you dumb dummy and I just smiled and laughed but I couldn't not turn to my left, just this empty seat next to me, no Armie, no Arm, you should've been there but you weren't, you're there, thousands of miles away and I miss you, and Luca missed you, we both, we both felt your absence, like you should've been there and it was just a plain dumb old theater chair and you should've been in it."  
  
I open my mouth to speak, I knew he was filling my silence, but I can't, just a short breath, tears just running now, snot out my nose, I'm not a great crier, I'm really not.  
  
"I've got Gucci on still, Gucciguccigucci, sisisi. I love the way Luca says it, just rolls off his tongue, Gucci, Gucci, Armani, Armie, Arm." I can feel him down the phone, smiling, picking at whatever dumbass sweater he's got on, Gucci of course. I know he wears them to get me smiling, cherries and shit. "This is lamb's wool and cream coloured and it's got a lamb on it, you'd love it."  
  
"I love you."  
  
"Hey, there's my guy, there's my Arm, my amore. I love you too. You okay?"  
  
I want to tell him no, I want to tell him it's all going to shit, my marriage is fucked, Liz is done with my bullshit, I'm done with my bullshit, I can't remember ever being happy here, with her, ever really smiling, I can't do this fakeass shit anymore, I'm done, I'm done, I'm done. I just want you, I want to tell him, here, now, be here with me, sitting next to me, so that when you turn to your left, I'm there, right there, my hand resting on yours on the bed, our bed, you'd lean over and rub your cheek on my shoulder, I'd kiss the top of your hair, breathe deeply, at the same time, the same rhythm, you, me, together. I take another deep breath, wipe my eyes. I can't tell him yet, I need to just get out of here, say goodbye to my marriage, my wife, get the next plane back, to him, to where he's housesitting for me, my LA pied a terre, my bed, my home, my space. To where I can sit down next to him, cover his hand with mine, across the sheets, say yes, yes to it all. I take my wedding ring off, I know that Liz has already done the same. I want to offer him this hand, my hand, this wrist, this arm, me, all of me. In the morning, I will.  
"Me okay, amore, me okay."

 


End file.
